


Skeletons in the Closet

by cunzy4



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Gabriel needs a break, Gabriel whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rated M just in case, Rescue, Small Amounts of Fluff, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), We've been hurting him too much, Whump, recovery fluff, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunzy4/pseuds/cunzy4
Summary: Gabriel died many years ago. He went out a hero, fighting a horde of demons. That's a fact, end of story.But if that's true, then who did Crowley find locked away in a dungeon in Hell? And who is responsible for putting him there?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 66
Collections: The Repossessed Server Prompts





	1. A Knife in the Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the plot of a dream I had a few days ago. The lovely fellows on the Repossessed Discord server made me turn it into a reality. Thank you, sadists.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel died many years ago. He went out a hero, fighting a horde of demons. That's a fact, end of story.
> 
> But if that's true, then who did Crowley find locked away in a dungeon in Hell? And who is responsible for putting him there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally the plot of a dream I had a few days ago. The lovely fellows on the Repossessed Discord server made me turn it into a reality. Thank you, sadists.

Gabriel never saw it coming.

In the years to come, he would berate himself for being so blind, for not seeing the signs until it was too late. He should have been more careful.

After the war, security had been increased to protect the remaining angels from outside threats. Gabriel was far from helpless in the face of danger, Michael made sure of that. Her defensive measures and grueling training program ensured that he would be ready for any demonic attack from the outside. 

He’d never considered that the danger might come from within.

Sandalphon was one of the angels who had been promoted to fill the ranks after the Fall left gaping holes in their hierarchy. He was an enforcer and, aside from being a little too enthusiastic about smiting the humans, he was a generally amiable fellow.

Gabriel considered Sandalphon a “work friend.” They saw each other during meetings and exchanged friendly blows on the training grounds, but if asked to name his hobbies, Gabriel would have come up with nothing. Sandalphon was not an angel with any defining traits that made him stand out among the rest of the angels, nor any particular personality to speak of. Most of the time he was just _there,_ as unremarkable as a piece of furniture.

And so, when Sandalphon invited him down to Earth to discuss an urgent matter in private, Gabriel didn’t think twice about following him down the grand staircase. He didn’t bother to tell anyone where he was going, since Michael would have insisted he bring a bodyguard or two. Complete overkill, in Gabriel’s opinion. After all, it wasn’t as though those silly little humans posed any threat to him.

They arrived on Earth near a crumbling church, overgrown and choked with weeds. At least, it had once been a church. It was clearly something _else_ now. Ordinarily churches glowed with holy light, but this building was surrounded by an oppressive dark aura.

“Where are we? What is this place?” asked Gabriel in shock, confused and concerned at the way his corporation was responding to the menace radiating from the building. Why was a shiver running down his spine? It wasn’t as though it had suddenly gotten colder. 

“A long time ago by human standards, a cult used this place for human sacrifice rituals,” Sandalphon explained, seeming slightly too gleeful at the prospect. “Bathing in virgins’ blood, baby killing, all the most horrible sick things humans can come up with. Eventually, the police caught up to them, and they committed mass suicide rather than go to prison. Right there in that church.”

“O...kay,” Gabriel said, now thoroughly creeped out. “And what are we doing here?”

“I’ll show you,” Sandalphon said, beckoning him forward into the church. “Come on, it’s in the basement.”

Gabriel did not want to set foot in that diseased building. And more than anything, he did _not_ want to go into the basement. All his instincts were telling him to turn and run. Surely there was nothing in that basement that was worth this.

But that was ridiculous. He was an _archangel,_ and he wasn’t afraid of some human building. Plus, he had to look cool in front of Sandalphon.

The basement was pitch black. There was a metallic tang in the air. It felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on Gabriel’s chest.

“Sandalphon?” he said hesitantly. His own voice sounded strange to his ears.

Gabriel didn’t notice the trap until it had already snapped shut around him. The demons melted out of the shadows, surrounding him with fangs and claws and glittering eyes.

He never carried his sword with him. Why would he? Demons would never dare attack an archangel. He had enough holy power in his pinky finger to smite any lowly demon off the face of the earth. 

He raised his hands to summon a bolt of lightning that would vaporize the church and all the demons within. After half a second, he realized nothing was happening. The demons had somehow cut him off from his power.

Gabriel was a lot of things, but he was not a coward. If he was about to die at the hands of a demon horde, then he would go down fighting.

“Sandalphon, run!” he shouted. “I can try to hold them off-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sandalphon said coldly.

In the dim light, Gabriel realized that only he was surrounded. Sandalphon stood off to one side, smirking, as the demons ignored him completely.

Gabriel felt like all the air had been punched out of him. 

“Sandalphon, what- what are you doing?” he asked weakly.

“Getting a promotion,” Sandalphon said as the demons descended on Gabriel. He kicked and struggled, but there were too many of them.

“Desecrated ground,” Sandalphon explained condescendingly. “Angels don’t fare to well in these places. Only a complete imbecile would walk in here unprotected.”

He kept talking as the earth began to swallow the demons up, and Gabriel with them. “I’d say you will be missed, but I doubt anyone will care.”

Sandalphon’s smug face was the last thing Gabriel saw before he was dragged, kicking and screaming, down to Hell.

* * *

“Morning, angel!” Crowley called as he sauntered into the bookshop, the door opening for him on its own. “You around?”

“Back here!” Aziraphale responded from the back room.

Crowley bumped the door open with his hip, his hands occupied with coffee cups.

“Coffee?” he offered.

“Oh, thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale said with a smile as Crowley set the cup on the table in front of him and settled down on the sofa. “It’s been almost a week since I ran out of the good stuff, and I haven’t had time to do the shopping.”

Crowley nodded knowingly, reading between the lines of the innocuous statement. “Ol’ Sandy’s been cracking down on ‘frivolous’ miracles again, hasn’t he?”

“Somewhat,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Is that guy ever _not_ on a power trip?” Crowley lamented, taking a deep gulp of his black coffee. “Satan, what a prig. Almost makes me miss Gabriel.” He paused a moment. “Sorry.”

Crowley would normally walk across broken glass to avoid apologizing for anything, but he knew Aziraphale didn’t like to be reminded of his former superior.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said, acknowledging the gesture. “Besides, I have you to do all the frivolous things for me, don’t I?”

Crowley broke into a wide grin. “That you do,” he agreed.

After the event that Heaven only referred to as “the tragedy” and Sandalphon had taken over Gabriel’s job, Aziraphale had become much more relaxed about associating with Crowley. Sandalphon just didn’t command the same respect as Gabriel, nor was he quite as effective a leader. He just didn’t have the same knack of making his subordinates feel inadequate under the guise of “constructive feedback.” Consequently, Aziraphale wasn’t constantly second-guessing himself and worrying about how to please him. Once Crowley had assured him that Gabriel’s death had not been a Hell-sanctioned assassination and Crowley had had no way of preventing it, Aziraphale had finally been willing to let down his guard and admit that they were friends.

The pair easily fell into their normal routine, bickering about inconsequential things, but Crowley could tell Aziraphale was still thinking about Gabriel.

It had been almost seventy years now since Sandalphon had burst through the gates of Heaven, disheveled and frantic, bearing the news that Gabriel had perished. He spun a dramatic tale of how they had been on Earth, minding their own business, when they were suddenly set upon by a horde of ravenous demons. Gabriel had nobly sacrificed himself to allow Sandalphon time to get away, but tragically lost his life in Hellfire before Sandalphon had the chance to call for help.

The death of an archangel had caused a deep wound in the Host. Not since the war, eons ago, had an angel been destroyed permanently. Even an angel that Fell was still alive, however permanently damaged it may be.

And it was _Gabriel_ of all angels. The charismatic, powerful leader who projected such an unassailable aura of confidence that it was almost unthinkable that he could be shaken from his pedestal. And now he was gone, brought low by a pack of cowardly demons who attacked from the shadows and never even showed their faces, according to Sandalphon. Heaven’s collective disdain for Hell matured into a simmering rage. It was all Michael could do to stop her forces from storming the gates right then and there, even though there was nothing she would rather do than lead the charge herself. After all, someone had to keep order in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone.

No one had particularly wanted Sandalphon to step in and fill the vacant role, although no one else wanted to do so either. For some, it was too painful a reminder. For others, the task of filling those polished wingtip shoes was just too daunting. As a result, no one put up more than a token argument when Sandalphon walked into Gabriel’s office and sat himself down like he’d always belonged there.

* * *

Crowley was _pissed._

Not only had Aziraphale refused to give him holy water, but he’d been called down to Hell for a surprise “performance review.” He knew the old song and dance by now, he’d done it a thousand times. But Hell had started breathing down his neck after Gabriel had kicked the bucket. The Dark Council was concerned, and rightfully so, that the angels would seek revenge. They wouldn’t wage a full-scale assault on Hell for the sake of a single angel, however powerful he may have been. But they certainly wouldn’t be above targeting a solitary demon who spent most of his time isolated on Earth.

Although their “fraternizing” (Crowley snorted at the word) had become easier for Aziraphale, it had certainly become more challenging for Crowley. Getting caught with an angel would mean a lot of questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

And now he was down in the bowels of Hell, irritable from caffeine withdrawal and shivering from the damp air, and he was definitely _not_ lost. He didn’t _get_ lost. Even though he’d never been in this particular labyrinth and he was reasonably sure he’d walked past the same star-shaped patch of mold four times already, he certainly wasn’t lost.

The knowledge that he was brooding down in these tunnels instead of brooding in the comfort of his own flat didn’t improve his mood one bit. The brooding was quickly morphing into sulking, and after a sulk he tended to want a nap, and he couldn’t do any of that while he was still _definitely not lost_ down here.

His nose twitched.

As a serpent, Crowley depended on his sense of smell almost as much as his sight. His nose could pick up the most minute changes in his environment. And he had definitely just caught a whiff of angel essence.

He stopped in his tracks, breathing deeply. _Mold sulfur stone damp holiness_

There was definitely someone or something angelic down here.

Crowley picked up his pace, turning his head this way and that to try to locate the source of the smell.

 _It’s not him. It can’t be. He wouldn’t be so careless. Hell wouldn’t just- maybe they would,_ someone _would, we never did find out who killed- it’s not him. We haven’t talked in a while, but I would know if he was in trouble, right? I always know when he’s in trouble._

His nose led him to an iron door set into the stone wall, heavily inscribed with binding runes. This cell had clearly been made to keep in someone seriously powerful.

The cell was ancient, but that didn’t mean the occupant was too. For all he knew, it could have been filled by a prisoner a week ago. Or a year. _Bless everything, why didn’t I keep tabs on him?_

Fortunately, the cell was designed to keep people from getting out, not in, so it was easy enough for Crowley to disengage the lock. His heart in his throat, he pulled the door open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

Crowley almost didn’t recognize Gabriel. His hair had grown out to cover his eyes, and his once imposing figure had seemingly shrunk until it was almost skeletal. He sat in a corner, curled into a tight ball around himself, infernal chains keeping him nearly pinned to the wall.

Crowley’s heart twisted at the sight of the marks and bruises that littered Gabriel’s naked body. He was conscious, glaring up at Crowley through sunken eyes with equal parts hatred and despair.

“Go on, then,” he said hoarsely. “What are you waiting for? I’m not afraid of you.”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment.

Then he slammed the door shut and walked back the way he had come.

* * *

“Angel!” Crowley shouted, throwing the door open and storming into the bookshop with manic energy. “Aziraphale! Where the Heaven are you?!”

He was prepared to turn the shop upside down in his impatience to find Aziraphale, but stopped short when the angel appeared right in front of him. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you came over, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, I’m so sorry about-”

“Angel- no- shut up-” Crowley squirmed out of his arms, waving his hands to cut off Aziraphale’s indignant scoff. “That’s not important- I mean, it is, I’m sorry too, but- ngk- I was just in Hell, and I found-”

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh no, did something happen?” He gripped Crowley’s arms, pulling him closer and scrutinizing his face. “Was it Hastur? Did he-”

“ _No,_ I said shut _up-_ just- are you really sure Gabriel’s dead?”

“What?” Aziraphale drew back in shock. “What kind of- of course he’s dead, why would you even ask that?”

“Because I just saw him in Hell, and he seemed pretty alive to me.”

“ _What?”_ Aziraphale’s voice jumped up an octave. “That’s not- that’s not possible. He was destroyed with Hellfire.” His voice wavered slightly.

“And you saw the body, huh? Or the- pile of ashes or whatever?”

“No, but Sandalphon saw it himself-”

“And you all just took his word for it, huh? Even though there were no other witnesses? And no one ever found out who actually did the deed?”

“Oh, dear Lord…” Aziraphale breathed. "But- no. You must be mistaken. I may not hold Sandalphon in any particular regard, but he wouldn't have _lied._ He's not a traitor to Heaven. He's an _angel,_ not-"

"Not a demon? Is that what you were going to say?"

Aziraphale winced in apology. Crowley decided to let the matter drop in favor of the more pressing issue at hand.

He pressed further. “I never did understand why a random group of demons would suddenly decide to murder an archangel for no reason. Despite popular belief, there is a rule of law down there. We don’t just kill indiscriminately.”

“Are you sure he's alive?” Aziraphale asked weakly. “How do you know?”

“Saw him with my own eyes,” Crowley said. “He’s not in great shape, but it’s definitely Gabriel. Not Fallen or anything. He’s in one of the deep dungeons, away from the normal prisons.”

“He’s been… alive? This whole time?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, then suddenly indignant again. “And you didn’t rescue him?”

“What was I supposed to do, just pick him up and walk out the front door?” Crowley retorted. “Somehow I don’t think the other demons will take too kindly to that.”

“So you’re just going to leave him down there?” Aziraphale’s eyes began burning with angelic wrath.

“Of course not, you idiot! What do you take me for?” Crowley snapped. “I need a _plan_ , that’s why I came to you!”

Aziraphale deflated, the holy glow dissipating. “Of course, dear boy. Sorry about that. I know you wouldn’t leave him, you’re far too-“

“If you say _nice_ I’m going to hit you,” Crowley warned.

“I was going to say _compassionate.”_

“That’s even worse.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, then turned serious again. “We have to tell someone about this. We need to alert Heaven-”

“No!” Crowley cut him off. “We can’t tell _anyone.”_

“Why ever not?”

“Because a fake death and a cover-up screams _conspiracy_ to me, and we don’t know how many of either side are in on it. All these years and I’ve never heard a single rumor about an angel in the dungeons, and that means there’s someone down there who’s willing to go to any lengths to keep a lid on it. If this reaches the wrong ears, we might disappear just like Gabriel. For all I know, we’re already in danger.”

“Oh, dear…” Aziraphale murmured. “So what do we do?” 

Crowley made an unintelligible noise. “You’re the smart one, you tell me. There’s probably something in your books that can help, so let’s get _reading._ ” He said the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Now you’re speaking my language. I'm sure we've no time to waste. How about a cup of tea while we make plans?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath, but nevertheless followed Aziraphale into the back room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making tea is never a waste of time.
> 
> Part two coming tomorrow? Saturday? Something around there.
> 
> If you want to join the sadists, here's the link:  
> https://discord.gg/GecGrpdNAw


	2. Surgical Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley returns to Hell to retrieve a wayward angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this thing just keeps getting longer and longer lol

The plan they had constructed using their collective brain cell was a hasty cobbled-together mess, which was Crowley’s specialty. It also involved putting no one but Crowley in direct danger, since he refused to allow Aziraphale to set foot in Hell for Gabriel’s sake or anyone else’s. Aziraphale waited in the bookshop while Crowley returned to Hell alone.

Sneaking into Hell was much easier than sneaking out. Shifty and suspicious behavior was considered completely normal Downstairs, so no one looked twice at Crowley as he slithered past. There was the occasional growling beast in the shadows, especially as Crowley strayed from the beaten paths into the darker depths of Hell, but Crowley was well practiced at exuding the “too much trouble to eat” aura.

The iron door to Gabriel’s cell was right where he had left it, not that it would have gone anywhere on its own. More importantly, the locking spell was still broken, indicating that no one else had come to visit since he had last been there. Hopefully, it meant their rescue would go unnoticed for a while. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder if they left Gabriel alone down here for months or years at a time between tortures, in the dark and cold with only his thoughts to keep him company…

Crowley had never been fond of Gabriel. He was a little too self-important, too assured of his own superiority. But he had never done anything to deserve this. He was still an angel, and angels were creatures of purity, simpler and more innocent than the humans. Seeing an angel in trouble reminded Crowley a little too strongly of a neglected child, able to know something was wrong but too young to know why.

It was rare for an angel to knowingly commit evil. Even the demons, universally reviled as the Bad Guys, had never been evil. Most of them had been punished for crimes they hadn’t even known were illegal.

There were exceptions, of course. Lucifer. Aziraphale, when he was at his most petty and mischievous. And, apparently, Sandalphon. Backstabbing someone to take over their job was the standard method of ascending the corporate ladder in Hell, but unheard of in Heaven. 

Mindful of the danger, Crowley tried to open the door as quietly as possible. Fortunately there was no one around, since “screeching rusty metal” and “quiet” do not often go hand in hand.

Gabriel hadn’t moved since Crowley had last been there. He was still curled around himself in a corner of the cell, looking withdrawn and pathetic. Crowley’s heart twisted at his sad state.

“Gabriel?” Crowley whispered.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open and focused on Crowley, but he said nothing. He held perfectly still, waiting for Crowley to make a move.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Crowley assured him, knowing his words would be meaningless. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Gabriel tensed as Crowley locked the door behind him and stepped further into the cell, walking in an arc to stay out of Gabriel’s reach. He had the vague hope that Gabriel would feel the tiniest bit less threatened if Crowley wasn’t close enough to hurt him.

Crowley’s sharp fangs pierced his skin as he bit deeply into the side of his thumb. Blood welled up from the puncture wound, trickling down his chin and wrist. Gabriel watched in silence, his eyes hostile and suspicious. Crowley ignored the gaze as he crouched and began to draw on the floor with his own blood.

“I hate blood magic,” Crowley muttered under his breath as he worked. “Bloody barbaric, is what it is. Be lucky if I don’t get tetanus.”

Crowley straightened up once he finished the circle and it began to glow. “Alright, angel,” he said, addressing Gabriel. “Time to go.”

Gabriel watched warily as Crowley approached. The moment Crowley bent over to unlock the chains, Gabriel lashed out with his legs. His foot caught Crowley in the shin, sending him crashing to the ground. 

“Ow- fuck-” Crowley grunted, another kick to the face sending him flying. His head hit the floor hard and he saw stars.

“Knock it off, I’m trying to  _ help  _ you,” Crowley growled as he scrambled to his feet, blood gushing from his nose. 

“I don’t want your help,” Gabriel snarled defiantly. The infernal chains weren’t long enough to allow him to stand upright, so he crouched in a defensive posture. He was breathing heavily, looking exhausted but determined.

“Fuck’s sake, I don’t have time for this.” The glowing circle was already dimming, and Crowley  _ really  _ didn’t feel like bleeding all over the floor a second time. 

“Any chance you’ll let me get you out without fighting me?” Crowley said.

“No,” Gabriel snapped.

“Yeah, thought not.” Crowley sighed heavily. “Alright, I’m sorry about this in advance.”

Without any more warning, Crowley lunged across the room with the speed of a striking snake. Gabriel struggled with all his remaining strength, but it was distressingly easy for Crowley to wrestle him to the ground.

Gabriel abruptly fell still when Crowley got his fingernails under the cursed handcuffs and pried them open. They fell off of Gabriel’s wrists, revealing that the skin beneath was charred black from prolonged exposure to Hellfire. Crowley’s stomach turned at the sight and smell of burned flesh. 

“What are you-” Gabriel croaked, his eyes suddenly wide and uncertain. 

“I told you, I’m here to help.” Cautiously, Crowley eased off of Gabriel, who had seemed to reconsider attacking again. That, or he had expended all his energy in his first attack, leaving him drained and nearly helpless.

“Hold tight, angel, it’s almost over,” Crowley murmured soothingly, sliding an arm under Gabriel’s body and half dragging him across the floor into the circle. Gabriel resisted weakly, but his strength was gone.

The circle of blood flared back to life as Crowley pulled Gabriel into the center. Crowley felt a tingle as the energy flooded through him, then they both vanished in an instant.

* * *

Aziraphale was pacing the back of the bookshop, anxiously fidgeting and stress-cleaning the already tidy room. He couldn’t stop worrying about all the things that could go wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have let Crowley go back alone, but the demon was adamant about keeping Aziraphale out of harm’s way. This wounded his pride slightly, since he was a soldier and protector at heart, not some delicate flower that needed to be coddled. But he understood why Crowley was so insistent. Seeing Gabriel in such a state as Crowley had described could have only made him think of Aziraphale meeting the same fate. And that was one thing Crowley would never allow.

Still, it went against all of his protective instincts to watch Crowley return to Hell alone. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. The whole thing could be a trap, the demons could have found out, for all he knew Crowley was already dead…

The circle drawn on the floor in chalk flashed. That was the only warning Aziraphale got before the room was suddenly occupied by Crowley kneeling on the floor and supporting a half-conscious Gabriel in his arms, still struggling feebly.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale dove in immediately. “Oh, you’re bleeding…”

Crowley had almost forgotten the blood gushing from his nose. “Not the time, angel. Worry about  _ him.”  _

“Oh, dear…” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered over Gabriel, unsure of what to do. There were just so  _ many  _ injuries... “Gabriel, can you hear me? Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Gabriel didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to recognize Aziraphale, trying to push his reaching hands away. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the state of Gabriel’s wrists. Tears filled his eyes and he had to cover his mouth to suppress a horrified shriek.

“He’s in pain,” Crowley murmured, looking close to tears himself. “Just put him to sleep.”

“Oh- ah, yes, of course.” Aziraphale rested his palm against Gabriel’s forehead, ignoring the way Gabriel tried to shake him off. “Sleep now, and have pleasant dreams.”

Gabriel’s eyes fluttered closed and he went limp in Crowley’s arms. 

“Oh… oh, dear…” Aziraphale had never felt so out of his depth. He couldn’t stop himself from crying. “Crowley, what are we going to do?” 

Tears were running down Crowley’s face too, but Aziraphale knew better than to point it out. Crowley had always been ready and willing to comfort Aziraphale when he needed it, but when it came to accepting comfort himself, he was far more likely to turn into a snake and hide himself away.

Fortunately, Crowley was the type of person who needed to feel helpful, so the simplest way for Aziraphale to care for Crowley was to allow Crowley to care for him.

“Angel. Everything is going to be fine,” Crowley assured him soothingly. “We’re going to fix this. We’ll take care of him. It’s all going to be fine.” Sure enough, Crowley seemed to be relaxing slightly, the tears disappearing. 

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabe needs a break


	3. Room to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel gets a much needed chance to rest and heal.

Before Gabriel properly regained consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was warmth. 

He hadn’t been warm in so long. He barely remembered the feeling. It was like being surrounded in a full-body hug, not that he remembered what hugs felt like either.

For a long time, he just drifted. 

Eventually, Gabriel’s mental boat began to scrape the shores of consciousness. He became aware of the slide of fabric against skin as he breathed, and a soft light filtering through his eyelids.

He didn’t open his eyes. If he opened his eyes, then he would be awake. And if he was awake, then he would have to face whatever new torture awaited him in this strange warmth and softness. And if there was one thing he’d learned over his years of imprisonment, it was that any deviation from the norm would bring new types of pain.

Gabriel preferred the routine. The constant brutality and humiliation was agonizing, but at least it was  _ predictable.  _ Gabriel would take the usual pain any day over the sheer terror of waiting in suspense, not knowing what awful thing would happen next.

He didn’t want to face whatever new horror this was. He was too tired. Tired of fighting, tired of existing in indefinite agony. He was just so  _ tired. _

Soon enough, though, the waiting got to him. He knew the demons wouldn’t wait for him forever. Reluctantly, Gabriel opened his eyes.

He found himself staring at a featureless white ceiling. This was an unusual enough sight that it captured his full attention. The ceiling of his cell was spiderwebbed with cracks and constantly dripped dirty water and suspicious-smelling ooze. Gabriel had spent many long hours searching for patterns in the cracks and counting the drops that landed on his exposed skin.

Inexplicably, the only thought in his overtaxed mind was that this ceiling was so much more boring than the one in his cell, and he would have to find something more interesting to stare at.

“Gabriel?” a soft voice said, right next to him.

Gabriel flinched, his arms coming up automatically to protect himself. A stab of pain shot through his wrists, and he suddenly realized that the chains that had been locked around his limbs for the better part of seventy years were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” Someone was still talking. Gabriel looked around and squinted, trying to make out who was there and possibly calculate his odds of being attacked in the immediate future. The dim light in the room was almost blinding when he had been in the dark for so very long.

The man sitting at his bedside was definitely an angel, Gabriel could tell from the halo clearly visible on the ethereal plane. It took a moment to place a name to the face. Fluffy white hair, slightly owlish expression…

“Aziraphale?” he said slowly.

Aziraphale’s face broke into a relieved smile. “Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” he said, still keeping his voice low. “It’s been more than a week, I was getting so worried… I healed what I could, but there was just so  _ much,  _ I was worried I’d missed something important…”

Too many words. Gabriel couldn’t process a single one of them.

“Azira-” he started, but his voice cracked midway through and he burst into a coughing fit. He doubled over as his lungs racked him with pain, he couldn’t catch his breath, stars exploded behind his eyes-

A hand was at the back of his head. Gabriel froze. His instincts warred between flailing out against the intrusion or submitting to the attacker, but fighting back always made everything worse and he was so  _ tired- _

“Here, drink this.” Something was being held in front of his face. A glass of water.  _ Right. Aziraphale. _ Not some demon with sharp claws and glowing eyes, ready and eager to rip into him-

“I promise it will help you feel better.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and soothing, the hand behind Gabriel’s head supporting him as he sat up.

Gabriel remembered a time when he would have retorted with something pretentious about  _ sullying the temple of his celestial body-  _ but. Well. He’d been sullied with a lot worse than water over recent years. And besides, his throat bloody  _ hurt. _

He tried to take the cup and would have dropped it if Aziraphale hadn’t helped him keep it upright. His fingers refused to move properly. There were heavy bandages around his wrists. The infernal cuffs, infused with hellfire and demonic sigils, had seared all the way down to his bones, to the point where it had actually stopped hurting quite so much because all the nerves had been burned away and he would have gladly chopped off his own arms just to stop the dreadful  _ burning- _

Aziraphale was watching him calmly, his face showing nothing but patience and concern as he waited for Gabriel to accept the drink. Gabriel took a moment to work up his nerve, then brought the cup to his lips.

_ Oh.  _ It was pure bliss. The water was cool and soothing on the blistered sores in his throat, flooding him with the sensation of a long-forgotten need finally being satisfied.

“Thank you,” Gabriel rasped as Aziraphale took the cup and helped him lie back down. With his head slightly clearer, it was slowly dawning on him that he might possibly have actually been  _ rescued.  _ Although he couldn’t quite allow himself to believe that. This newfound hope was still too fragile, too muddled with confusion, for him to put any weight on it quite yet.

“What… what happened?” he dared to ask.

Aziraphale’s face fell. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting nervously with his waistcoat. 

“Oh, Gabriel, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said mournfully. Gabriel’s stomach clenched in fear, suddenly certain that this confession would lead to him being sent back to Hell or worse. A thousand scenarios flashed through his head in an instant, each more horrific than the last.

“Sandalphon told us all you were dead,” Aziraphale said regretfully. Gabriel flinched at the name. “I never should have believed him… that is, I had no reason  _ not  _ to, but still, I feel as though I should have known…” he shook his head sadly. “Believe me, if I’d had even the slightest inkling that you were alive, I never would have stopped trying to reach you.”

More words that made no sense. Kindness, compassion, loyalty… these concepts had no meaning to him anymore. Aziraphale might as well have been speaking another language.

One of the very few certainties of Gabriel’s existence was that there would be no escaping from Hell. The cell and the demons and the pain were to be his eternity, and that would never change. 

The other certainty was that they would  _ never  _ break him.

Gabriel had reached a sort of equilibrium over the years, knowing that things would never get better but they also couldn’t get much worse. If he’d been holding out for a rescue, believing that someday he would somehow be found and saved, the endless waiting would have worn him down until he finally submitted to despair. But without depending on that external hope, he had withdrawn into himself and found a sort of peace in resignation. They would always hurt him, he would always fight. Nothing would ever change.

“Gabriel? Are you alright?” Aziraphale was frowning at him with concern again, and Gabriel realized he’d been silent for too long. 

“I…” he struggled to sort through the mess that was his brain. He almost wished he was back in his cell. Things were simpler there.

“How?” he finally settled on asking. He wasn’t even quite sure what he meant, but he knew that Aziraphale shouldn’t be here. None of this should have been possible.

Aziraphale looked inexplicably guilty. “Well, you see…” he broke eye contact again, looking anywhere except at Gabriel. “I had information from an… inside source.”

“Inside…” Gabriel’s heart stopped. “There was a demon.”

It all came flooding back to him in an instant. The strange demon who had entered his cell and removed his chains. His memories were indistinct and blurry, but he recalled hearing two voices before losing consciousness.

Aziraphale was conspiring with demons. This whole affair was another betrayal. Well, at least  _ that  _ made sense. Gabriel was almost relieved.

_ Almost,  _ because for an instant, against his will, Gabriel had actually allowed himself to get his hopes up. That moment of disappointment cut more deeply into his soul than any torture the demons could have ever come up with.

“Gabriel, please, it’s not what you think,” Aziraphale said quickly, seeing Gabriel’s crushed expression and reading between the lines. “Crowley is…” he seemed to steel himself. “Crowley is my friend.”

Well, now they were back to square one in the sense-making department.

“Crowley and I have been friends for a very long time,” Aziraphale continued. “I would trust him with my life. He’s a good person.”

“He’s a demon,” Gabriel said, as if that was the end of that.

“He saved you,” Aziraphale reminded him. “He put himself at risk to rescue you from Hell, even though he had nothing to gain. He didn’t even think twice about it.”

“But…” Gabriel was grasping at straws, desperately trying to hold on to the only worldview that he could understand. “Demons are  _ bad.” _

Aziraphale smiled ruefully. “And angels are good, yes? Unequivocally, universally good? None of them would ever betray or backstab you?”

Gabriel made a tiny choked noise.

“If there can be a bad angel,” Aziraphale continued, more gently now, “doesn’t it mean there can be a good demon? Someone who cares about others, selfless and, dare I say, kind?”

“No…” Gabriel whispered. His voice sounded tiny and pitiful, even to him.

“Oh, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I know you’ve been through so much, but I promise it’s all going to be okay. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I’ll keep you safe and protected from now on.”

The sympathy in Aziraphale’s eyes was too much. It was all too much.

Gabriel started crying.

* * *

Gabriel spent the next several days in varying states of wakefulness. Aziraphale was usually nearby, reading a book and unobtrusively watching over him. Gabriel didn’t know whether to feel threatened or reassured by the constant presence. He wasn’t even sure if Aziraphale was guarding him from everything else, or guarding everything else from  _ him. _

Aziraphale occasionally insisted on tending to Gabriel’s remaining injuries or coaxing him to drink honeyed tea, but for the most part he maintained a careful distance. Even though Gabriel was completely at Aziraphale’s mercy and unable to defend himself, it made him feel the tiniest bit safer that he would at least have an instant’s warning if the other angel decided to attack.

“Relax, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said every time he noticed the archangel staring at him like a cornered rabbit. “I wouldn’t go to all the trouble of rescuing and healing you if I intended to harm you, would I?”

Aziraphale’s argument made rational sense, but Gabriel’s mind was not in a rational place. His mind screamed that every word was a lie, Aziraphale was out to get him,  _ everyone  _ was out to get him, he was going to be jumped at any second and dragged back to Hell-

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale interrupted his panic spiral, patient as ever. “No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Gabriel wanted to believe him. He really did. But that didn’t stop him from compulsively tracking Aziraphale’s every move, watching and waiting and jumping at any sudden movements.

Nothing triggered Gabriel’s panic reflex quite like hearing the sound of the front door opening downstairs. It was nothing like the screeching metal noise of his cell door in Hell, but it still brought to mind unwelcome intruders, invading his space to rip and tear and take everything he possibly had to give and then  _ keep  _ taking…

“It’s only Crowley,” Aziraphale would reassure him every time. “He won’t come up here. He doesn’t want to scare you any more than I do.”

Gabriel found the idea of a “good” demon nearly impossible to wrap his head around. But he didn’t want to risk angering Aziraphale and getting sent straight back to Hell, so he said nothing on the matter.

Crowley never made an appearance in the bedroom where Gabriel resided, but he could be heard coming and going from the shop frequently, and Aziraphale occasionally spoke to him in the doorway in low voices. Gabriel tried to convince himself that they weren’t plotting against him, and almost succeeded.

After a week of long sleeps and painful healing sessions, Gabriel finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind since the day he had woken up.

“Are you going to let me go back to Heaven?”

Aziraphale looked up from his book, surprised. “Excuse me?”

Gabriel already regretted bringing it up. “Can I maybe… go back to Heaven? Someday?”

Aziraphale set his book aside and regarded Gabriel with a soft frown.

“You’re not a prisoner here, Gabriel,” he said gently. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression. Of course you’ll be going back to Heaven. However, the thing is…”

Gabriel’s heart, which had been flooding with relief, suddenly seized up in fear once again. Of course there would be a catch. There was always a catch.

“Crowley and I… we’re not exactly sure whom to trust,” Aziraphale said. “So far, it seems as though no one in Hell has noticed you’re gone, and we’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible. If word of your escape reaches the wrong ears, well… you’re not exactly prepared to protect yourself. And there’s only so much one flaming sword can do if the shop is swarmed by a horde of demons.” He smiled ruefully.

He had a point. Gabriel’s wrists were still heavily scarred and wrapped in bandages, and he hadn’t even attempted to use any miracles yet. He was afraid to try to access his powers only to find himself cut off from them, possibly permanently.

Aziraphale’s face turned serious again. “As for Heaven, I’m sure the majority of the Host would be overjoyed to see you return. However… there is Sandalphon to consider.”

Gabriel felt suddenly nauseous.  _ Sandalphon. _

“We don’t know if he was working alone when he betrayed you,” Aziraphale said bluntly. “And there’s no way of knowing who would be loyal enough to him now to help him cover this up before word gets out. He’s not an entirely popular leader, but… you never know.” Aziraphale looked troubled. “He was canny enough to broker a deal with demons once. I’m sure he could find a way to make us both disappear and sweep it under the rug.”

Gabriel’s anxiety was rising with every passing second. Aziraphale’s words stopped making sense, there was  _ too much,  _ there was no one to trust and he would be discovered and sent back to Hell at any second and his head was spinning and the world was fading and-

A touch on his forearm made him flinch in a full-body spasm. But it was a soft hand, not a clawed or scaly one, and it only took him a moment to remember that the hand belonged to Aziraphale.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, in the same soothing tone he used every time the archangel began panicking. 

(They never called him  _ Gabriel,  _ down there. It was always  _ filthy angel  _ or  _ little whore _ or all manner of degrading nicknames. The day that Crowley had come into his cell to rescue him had been the first time he’d heard his own name in decades.)

“I promise you, you’re perfectly safe here,” Aziraphale assured him. “Crowley has been setting up all manner of safeguards and early-warning systems. This shop is as safe as we can make it. No one will be able to find you here. We have time to figure this out.”

Gabriel wanted to be reassured, but placing his safety in a demon’s hands was further than he was able to stretch his fragile trust at the moment. Why did he have to be so utterly helpless? Why couldn’t he just protect himself? 

However, Gabriel had little choice in the matter. As long as he was in hiding on Earth, he was dependent on Aziraphale and, by extension, Crowley. 

It was humiliating. He’d almost rather be back in Hell.

But he had no choice. For now, all he could do was wait.


	4. Crisis of Conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is ready to return to Heaven, and has to decide whether or not to report Aziraphale for "fraternizing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if this really felt finished, but I wanted to publish anyway, so here it is!

Gabriel studied his reflection in the full-length mirror, comparing himself to his memories of what he used to look like.

He didn’t recognize his own face. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen his reflection in so long, or possibly because he didn’t recognize the person underneath either.

His skin was pale, despite the flush from the hot bath he had just taken. He had slept almost nonstop for the past few weeks, but his eyes still had dark shadows beneath them. And the haunted expression… he wasn’t sure it would ever go away.

His brand-new suit, which Aziraphale had assured him that Crowley had assured him was the latest in fashion, was slightly loose on him but still concealed the signs of the toll that his captivity had taken on his corporation. With the sleeves covering the bandages on his wrists, he almost couldn’t tell anything had happened.

It was a surreal experience. Gabriel was beginning to worry that his mind had finally cracked and he was hallucinating the whole thing.

Shuddering slightly, Gabriel turned away from his reflection before the thought could catch hold of his mind. He’d accepted this reality, however improbable it might be, and he wasn’t planning on questioning his sanity at that particular moment.

A knock at the door made him flinch. 

“Gabriel?” Aziraphale’s voice came from the hallway. “May I come in?”

“Uh, yes,” Gabriel called back, hesitating just a moment too long. “Come on in.”

Aziraphale softly opened the door and entered the bedroom. He eyed Gabriel’s outfit, but not in the hungry way that the demons had looked at him. Not in the way that made him want to hide underneath the bed. Aziraphale had caught him curled up under there more than once, when things had just become  _ too much,  _ and he wasn’t eager to repeat that humiliating experience.

“You’re looking much better,” Aziraphale said approvingly. 

“I feel better,” Gabriel said, and it was true. The aches and pains had faded to almost nothing, and the persistent fear that each very-next-second could be the one where the demons would swarm in to drag him back to Hell, or Aziraphale would change his mind about helping him and abandon him, powerless and at the mercy of any demons he came across, or perhaps had been plotting against him since the beginning and this was all an elaborate ruse to betray him again and send him to a horrible fate worse than Hell-

Well. He was a far cry from  _ okay.  _ But he was  _ better. _

Aziraphale nodded, seeming to understand everything that Gabriel had not said. Gently, carefully, he rested a hand on Gabriel’s upper arm. 

“You’ll be alright,” Aziraphale reassured him, patting his arm softly. 

This was a calculated gesture, Gabriel had realized some time ago. Aziraphale was easing him into the idea of being touched without pain, getting him used to it before he returned to Heaven and all the angels who would doubtless get into his personal bubble.

Gabriel was beginning to notice Aziraphale’s little gestures more and more, all the subtle things the other angel did to accommodate Gabriel’s needs and put his fears at ease. Tiny things like locking the windows, knocking before entering the room, and never coming within arm’s reach without making sure Gabriel was aware of his presence. 

_ You’re safe with me,  _ all these little actions said.  _ I’ll never allow harm to come to you.  _ It made Gabriel’s heart twist in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Gabriel leaned heavily on the banister as he descended the stairs. Aziraphale followed him closely, but didn’t offer to help. He understood that Gabriel treasured every shred of independence he could get.

Crowley was lounging on a sofa in the back room when Gabriel walked in, freezing in the doorway. Aziraphale came up behind him, almost walking straight into him as he stopped abruptly.

Gabriel had not yet come face to face with the demon, though he knew Crowley was a frequent visitor to the bookshop. Despite Aziraphale’s constant reassurances that Crowley was harmless, Gabriel looked at the demon and saw only danger.

Those long, elegant fingers were nothing but a façade that hid vicious claws, made for tearing into soft flesh. Those sunglasses concealed glowing predator’s eyes that tracked every movement hungrily. He reclined, seemingly asleep, on the sofa on the opposite side of the room, but Gabriel wasn’t fooled into thinking he was safe over here in the doorway. He’d seen firsthand how quickly Crowley could cross a room, and with those sunglasses on, there was no way to tell if he was truly asleep or lying in wait to strike.

“Gabriel, please,” Aziraphale tutted, pushing past him through the doorway with the softest of nudges. “I’ve told you, Crowley won’t harm you. I’ve known him a very long time, and he has my complete trust.”

“How sweet,” Crowley drawled, making Gabriel jump. “I’m allergic to sweet.”

Gabriel was at war with his instincts. Half of him wanted to crumble under the fear and hide behind Aziraphale in the wild hope that the lesser angel could stop Crowley in his tracks. The other half, the part that had been prepared to die taking on a horde of murderous demons to protect his traitorous colleague, wanted to shove Aziraphale out of harm’s way and beg Crowley to take him instead.

Gabriel could handle Hell. Aziraphale would never survive in the same situation. He was too soft, too trusting, and entirely too willing to take a demon into his confidence despite the overwhelming danger of doing so. The torturers in Hell would tear him apart in an instant.

He didn’t deserve that after the kindness he’d shown Gabriel. If given the choice, Gabriel would return willingly to Hell a thousand times rather than let Aziraphale take his place.

Aziraphale seemed oblivious to Gabriel’s internal struggle, gently encouraging Gabriel to sit in the nearest armchair before pulling up a seat for himself. Gabriel sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion, holding himself perfectly straight, never taking his eyes off of Crowley.

“Today’s the day, isn’t it?” Crowley said to him. “Your triumphant return to Heaven?”

Small talk. The demon wanted to make  _ small talk.  _

Gabriel found that he couldn’t address Crowley directly. A thousand punishments for talking back to his torturers flashed through his head, and his jaw clenched and refused to allow words through.

Aziraphale shot a glance at him, brow slightly furrowed, then picked up the conversation for him.

“I think so,” he said to Crowley. “There’s very little point in waiting much longer. Gabriel is as well as he’s going to get without access to Heaven’s healers, and every day increases our chances of being discovered.”

Gabriel shuddered, and Aziraphale reached out to pat his arm supportively. Sometimes the attempts at comfort rubbed Gabriel the wrong way, but he just felt too raw and fragile to take offense.

“As far as I can tell, you still haven’t been found missing,” Crowley said. “But they wouldn’t want word to spread, since it wasn’t public knowledge that you were alive in the first place, so there’s every chance they’re already looking for you.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. “Don’t frighten him.”

“What?” Crowley said innocently. “It’s not like they’re breaking down the door as we speak. On the tiny chance they track us here, we’ll have plenty of warning. Trust me,” he said to Gabriel. “Running and hiding are my specialty. I know how to make a quick getaway.” He gave a smirk that might have been meant to come across as reassuring.

_ Trust me. _

Aziraphale, Gabriel trusted for the most part. Crowley, he did not.

The demon’s actions had made no sense from the beginning. He had seemed genuinely surprised to find Gabriel in his cell, and had left without even a cutting remark. The demons  _ never  _ missed out on an opportunity to belittle him. Then he had shown up again in short order, and willingly caused harm to himself in order to take Gabriel with him out of Hell. He had no firsthand experience, but he knew that blood magic spells felt like fire inside the caster’s bones. 

From what Aziraphale had told him, he and Crowley had been acquainted since Eden. (Gabriel wanted to reprimand him for dereliction of duty, but he held his tongue. He owed Aziraphale that much.) Aziraphale and Crowley had crossed paths on Earth many times since then, and Crowley had never given him a single reason to distrust him.

Gabriel wanted to ask if Aziraphale had even  _ heard  _ of the long con. 

He wanted to believe Crowley. He really did. It would be nice to still have that naïve trust, the oblivious optimism that made a person blind to all but the best in others. But. Well. Gabriel’s blind trust had led him straight into an absurdly obvious trap.

Perhaps it was the time he’d spent alone on Earth for so long that made Aziraphale lose his sense of self-preservation. Isolated from the Host as he was, with no options for companionship beyond the short-lived humans, he made the perfect target for a demon to swindle its way into his confidence. It could be partially Gabriel’s fault, then, for leaving his agent with no recourse but to fall for a demon’s wiles. 

The thought made Gabriel slightly petulant. It wasn’t his fault that Aziraphale was so hard to manage. His reports were so frivolous, always stuffed with useless details and endless records of superfluous miracles, and his meetings in person were always spent rambling about the wonders and delights of humanity until Gabriel was ready to put his head through a wall. He could hardly be blamed for letting Aziraphale manage on his own when he himself had so many more important things to be doing.

“Crowley, may I talk to Gabriel in private for a moment?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, sure, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Crowley sniffed petulantly, with a smirk to soften the blow. Without another glance at Gabriel, he stood up from the couch and sauntered out of the room.

“You don’t trust Crowley,” Aziraphale said once he was gone. It wasn’t a question.

“I,” Gabriel said, unsure if this would be considered a deal breaker on the whole “helping” thing.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale reassured him. “You’re not in a position to afford a lot of trust right now, especially to a demon. However, I certainly hope you don’t think me a fool for calling Crowley my friend.”

“I,” Gabriel said again. That was exactly what he thought.

Aziraphale smiled tightly, as though he could read Gabriel’s mind. “Please believe me when I say that befriending Crowley was not a decision I arrived at lightly. We both understand the risks of associating with each other. He has had countless opportunities to betray me, but he has never once given me a reason to doubt him.”

Gabriel’s skepticism was obvious in his silence.

“You still think he could have ulterior motives,” Aziraphale observed. “He’s never hurt me, but I have hurt him many times, in ways both accidental and intentional, and he always forgave. I’ve caused him so much trouble that if he were a con man, he would have left for an easier target long ago.” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “At this point, if he were to betray me, he’d be welcome to it. But I know he never will.”

“Are you saying nice things about me in there?” Crowley yelled from the next room, making Gabriel jump. “You know I hate it when you do that behind my back!”

Aziraphale ignored Crowley. “I’m not asking you to trust him. But I would deeply appreciate it if you didn’t mention his involvement to anyone. I don’t want to put him in danger for this. After all,” he said, slightly wistful, “a demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.”

_ A lot of trouble... _

Suddenly, Gabriel finally understood what Aziraphale was risking for his sake. Being caught associating with a demon was essentially suicide. He would be branded a traitor and cast out of Heaven, his angelic miracles stripped from him, left alone and powerless at the mercy of murderous demons…

Aziraphale had to have known full well what he was risking by saving Gabriel. Yet he had done it anyway, and he was more concerned for Crowley’s welfare than his own. Gabriel couldn’t think of a single other angel that would have put themselves on the line like that. Perhaps he had underestimated Aziraphale’s strength of character.

Aziraphale was watching him, slightly worried, and Gabriel realized he was still waiting for an answer.

“Ah. Yes,” he said hastily. “It’ll be our secret.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly, sighing in relief. “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Right. Well.” Gabriel felt slightly awkward. “You saved my life. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ruin yours in return, right?”

Gabriel had never really needed to concern himself with  _ fairness.  _ Before Hell, he had assumed that all of his decisions were always right, and therefore fair by default. After that… well. Nothing was fair in Hell.

It all made no sense to Gabriel, and he still trusted Crowley no further than he could throw him. But the demon had saved his life, as inexplicable as it may have been, and Aziraphale had been nothing but good to him. 

Gabriel had never bothered to care about other people’s feelings. But the thought of reporting Aziraphale for consorting with demons- essentially betraying him just as badly as Sandalphon had betrayed Gabriel- turned his stomach just as much as the idea of going back to Hell.

What a time to discover his conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be three chapters. FML


End file.
